


Withdrawal Symptoms

by venomPunk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomPunk/pseuds/venomPunk
Relationships: Eurus Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Kudos: 6





	Withdrawal Symptoms

The sun was slowly falling below the level of a blanket of clouds, and just before sunset the whole city was illuminated by warm orange light. It was a satisfying day.  
  


Sherlock and John were returning to the apartment where they had once lived together, but now, after John's marriage to Mary, it was again just the abode of a loner weirdo. The case developed exactly according to the deductions, but the adrenaline was only beginning to decline as they walked down Baker Street. John intended to take away the last things left in the apartment after him and prepare a room for a new tenant.  
Sherlock knew that no one would move there so soon - he got used to John for a long time, or rather - a long time, until he realized that he was his best friend. It was beyond his power to let another stranger into his personal space.  
  


John obviously enjoyed the warmth of the setting sun, he liked things like that - simple things, it was one of the few things Sherlock admired about him - the ability to enjoy the little things.  
As they closed the door behind them, the light suddenly disappeared and darkness fell on them.

Mrs. Hudson and her telly were not heard in the residence. There was silence throughout the house. Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but at that moment, something other than deduction told him they weren't alone there. John climbed the first step, but he passed it without a word, hurried up the stairs, and opened the door to the apartment. He froze in the doorway and a silent swear word escaped his lips. John followed immediately, wondering what had made his cold and rational friend curse.

In a room where the evening sun was slowly fading, someone was sitting on the sofa, rummaging with interest in Sherlock's computer. Reluctantly, she pulled her eyes away from the screen as they burst in, smiled, and stood up.  
  


Sherlock was terminated by most of his defense systems. In a panic he could barely hide, he looked at John, trying to identify with his gaze on the woman standing in front of them, cooling his burning circuits.

John was gazing at her.  
  
 _Tall, taller than John and just a few numbers lower than me._  
  
John's gaze stopped on her face, reminding him of someone…  
  
 _Sometimes I'm incredibly upset by your dizzying speed of a rusty tricycle, my friend._  
  
John was obviously useless, so Sherlock was forced to turn his attention back to the woman.  
  
Her face has hardly changed since the last meeting five years ago. A few wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the body lost even the last curves that associated it with childhood and youth, leaving only the sinewy flexibility he observed at this age and with himself. The line of the jaw was sharper, the hair shorter and the eyes… as if looking in a mirror.

He preferred to switch to clothes that he can read more - and whether we want to or not is our self-portrait, as Irene said.  
  
 _According to the condition of the bottom hem of the trousers and slight stains on the left side - probably Westminster, she often takes a cab, the shoulders of jacket marks after frequent wearing of a coat with a quality lining and a scarf made of wool…_  
  
He stopped. She was wearing _his_ suit. And _his_ shirt. The bare feet only completed the overall impression from which not only John but perhaps Lestrade would draw the right conclusion. When she smiled a crooked smile, it reminded him a lot of Mycroft that he had almost exploded.  
  
"John, can I introduce you to my sister Eurus?"

John opened his mouth in surprise, but immediately closed it again when his judgment and education caught up with him.  
  
"Nice to meet you," he smiled immediately, though a little nervously, and held out his hand in greeting. Eurus accepted it with a slight nod. The way John looked at Sherlock then told him how much she looked like him. They were not eerily identical, but that fact they´re siblings could not be denied.  
  
"I'm glad to meet you, Dr. Watson - judging by your surprised expression, I assume my dear brother doesn't mention me too often." Her voice was velvety, deep for a woman, evoked a strange feeling in the area under the ribs.

"Honestly, I don't find out anything about his family by his will. Mycroft- "  
John paused and looked uncertainly at Eurus, as if realizing he didn't know if she was his sister too. However, the total ego that radiated from her and the way she was just lifting the corner of her mouth left him in no doubt. Whether Sherlock wanted it or not, he had this in common with his brother.  
"- he also had to introduce himself, even if it wasn't exactly a conformal meeting," John finished more relaxed.  
"John, I assure you, Mycroft is just a kid who got an ant farm compared to this person."  
Sherlock was tense and stared at Eurus the whole time - and she returned the look with equal intensity. But while he was wondering where to run for safety, she was obviously having a good time. The silence grew longer and uncomfortable.  
  
"John, I'd appreciate it if you'd come back for your stuff tomorrow," Sherlock said in a low voice.  
"What? Oh…well, ok then. Bye, "he nodded to Eurus, giving one more look to Sherlock, who was looking at his sister in a way that he was afraid to take a look away – like from the venomous spider or snake you had just discovered in the living room. If you look away for a second, that thing can crawl somewhere and bite you in sleep. It wasn't that far from the truth.

  
Sherlock relaxed a little as the door closed behind John.  
"So _, Disaster_ , may I ask why you came here?" He asked venomously, turning to go into the kitchen.  
John would surely enjoy this, Sherlock Holmes is nervous about something other than boredom or human stupidity. That would be clicks on the blog!  
Eurus hissed with his tongue.  
"I thought we rejected childhood nicknames a long time ago," she replied as she sat down in his chair.  
"They do not lose truthfulness, " Sherlock picked up two cups and set the water for tea. He looked at her from a safe distance.  
  
 _It doesn't matter how far I can repel you - you will always come back to torment me. I hate you for it. But I hate myself even more - for what I feel every time you show up._  
  
His hands trembled as he poured tea and the china clinked softly. He controlled himself and carried the tray to the table. She watched him the whole time. Her gaze softened, no longer cruel and analytical.

"Why are you here?" He asked again as he sat down in John's chair and poured himself a cup for himself and her.  
  


"Oh, Sherlock," she looked behind him. "- I went to see Mycroft. Let's say in state affairs. He asked me to, ” she accepted the tea he was serving.  
  


"Did you get a spasm of love for your neighbor out of nowhere?"  
She smiled, but not ironically, just ... resignedly. Her eyes fell to the steaming liquid in her palms.  
  
 _No, just not this. Sherlock felt his hard-built walls crumble._  
  
"You know, each of us has chosen our own path. I try not to cross yours - you once asked me to in the name of maintaining sanity for both of us. "  
  
"And yet you will appear once every few years," Sherlock nodded seriously.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," she set down her tea and stood up.  
  
"I'll have your suit cleaned. It was supposed to be just a joke. A memory of old times. "  
  
 _She was leaving._  
  
Sherlock closed his eyes tightly to handle the hum in his head. _Sea surf._

"Wait," he said when he heard the clatter of the floorboard by the door. At that moment, he already knew that he would regret the word. He got up and went to her.  
  
"I'm still not balanced," he approached her forearms, staring at the ground.  
  


"Neither do I," Eurus replied. She never looked away, reached out, gently lifted his chin, and made him look at her.  
  


"We never will. Is it worth doing something about it? We never wanted to fit in. "  
She smiled and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes deepened.  
  


"No," Sherlock agreed.  
  


The last ray of sunlight penetrated the dusty window, illuminating her hair. He allowed himself to raise his hand and touch them. He walked timidly through her temples, and he smelled the familiar scent. He took a breath and closed his eyes.

  
_It is late. You will drown. Again._   
  


He resisted for only a minute, then he hugged her. She returned it to him and buried her nose in the hair behind his ear. She took a breath as hard as he did.  
  


"God…"  
  


"We both know there is no God," she replied in a whisper.  
  


They stood there for a moment, and Sherlock hoped time would stop. She was his enemy, always taking away everything he liked and leaving only the remnants. Snippets of memories he kept as treasures in the Mind Palace. He seldom went to see them. But now… now it was real.  
  


 _Do you remember how you finished for me…  
_ He read in her eyes:  
 _…the sentences?_

He ran his hand along the line of her jaw and down her neck to the collar of his own black shirt. He allowed himself a brief glance into their eyes — there was only the fear that the moment would fade away like a very vivid memory, like a dream from which, like him, he would suddenly wake up and be monstrously lonely.  
  


She reached for his top button as he unbuttoned hers. They took off the same jackets and shirts.  
"You didn't have this one last time," he said, running his fingertips over the pair of scars that ran from the shoulder blades to the ribs and down to her stomach.  
"Last spring, Lithuania," she tore her eyes from his face and slid them across the bare half of his body.  
"Not a scratch," she said.  
"Mine can't be seen."  
His Adam´s apple jumped as he bent down to finally touch her lips.

At first reluctantly, for fear of dissolving. In the end, however, a wave of frustration, five long years of repressed anger, and well-hidden desires swept over him. He rolled her onto the sofa, which moaned under the weight of their bodies. She didn't resist or fight for dominance, she let him take off his own pants form her. He ran his palm over the wrinkled skin on her thigh. He remembered this… burns. Despite all the injuries, he loved this body - the specific smell of skin and hair, the small changes that time brought. He longed to own it, but at the same time he was painfully aware that it was not possible. Not because of the conventions that they both didn´t care about, but because of the lives they chose. Their paths parted, and he had no choice but to enjoy these brief flashes of happiness.

He studied her eyes, frowned, trying to read something in her mind. But what he was looking at from there was only himself - and there was nowhere to hide. His own horrors and frustrations, the ascetic life he had chosen, the constant war that took place under the ice layer of the exterior. Here was the only person in the world who understood him perfectly, even without words, somebody that matched him. He clung to her as the only fixed point in his universe, and his breathing settled.

Her eyes widened as he penetrated her. He stayed that way for a while, enjoying the unbearable intimacy of the moment. However, he did not last long and succumbed to the aggression that had been dormant in him for five years.

_He was about sixteen when this happened for the first time. He still remembered the smell of the dust and musty rooms of the abandoned house - he still had it somewhere in his mind. He remembered the first time he had merged with a being that was his perfect reflection. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was the same for her. Strange feeling, so unusual, so… fulfilling._

He ran fingers over her sweaty forehead and felt she slowly tighten down there around him. She closed her eyes, ran her hand through his wet hair, and when she came, she gripped it tightly. It wasn't long before the pain helped him into the light after her.  
  
As they awoke, darkness and streaks of light from the street lamps alternated around them. The sweat on their bodies was cold. Sherlock still held Eurus in his arms, a subconscious gesture that had nothing to do with sexuality, but had enough to do with his childhood. The air around them was cold, so he reached for the old blanket to throw it over them. There was nothing between them but a beautiful hot vacuum.

He didn't want to wake up, stubbornly keeping his eyelids closed, even as she stroked his cheek gently.  
  
"I have to go."

"No."

He tightened his grip on her.

"Why are you always so stubborn?"

"Why are you always so cruel?"

He finally opened his eyes and there was pain and loss in them. That beast was smiling.  
  
"Why am I doing this?"

"For the same reason as me."

He pursed his lips. He knew very well why he was doing it. It was a drug. The most dangerous and least available drug of all.

"I feel like a human being with you."

She nodded.

"Weak, vulnerable, and eventually lonely."

"Sentimental," she corrected him.

" You're right. _We_ are not like that, "he admitted bitterly.  
  
She slipped out from him, and the cold that remained after her was overwhelming.  
"Sometimes I feel like I dream you up. That you are just a drug hallucination from the abstinence of humanity. "

" I know. Mycroft says I'm worse than chocolate. Now sleep."

 _It´s okay. He can hide the pain and he won't remember it until the East Wind blows into his life again._  
  
He fell asleep before she disappeared. There was nothing left of her than a faint odor on his shirt.


End file.
